Cold Case

As always, a freezing wind blew uninterruptedly from the sea, relentlessly hitting buildings on the shore.

The sun had just risen from behind the ridge lying on the opposite side of the village of Hugnaligt Stað, creating a magnificent view for everyone who had ever seen it, from the locals who spent their lifetimes here to rare tourists.

For everybody but Riley Faulkner, who stood on the terrace of the only inn here, holding a tiny, steamy cup of espresso.

Riley looked around with a face like he had stepped in a pile of mushy, sticky shit and was forced to remain in place while his pants were soaking it up.

Thirty-nine years ago, he swore he’d never go back to Hugnaligt Stað and had successfully honored the oath, ready to die before he saw this place again.

Freaking Hazel with her absolutely excessive perfectionism.

What was she thinking when submitting a request to check this place for possible additional evidence in a thirty-nine-year-old unsolved case?

Riley snorted and finished his espresso in one sip.

As if anybody wanted it solved. Liam Smith, who killed nineteen people, eight of whom were kids, managed to hide in plain sight for all the years he kept killing.

Then, one misty morning, his body was found under the highest cliff of the ridge surrounding Hugnaligt Stað. In his pockets, the police found multiple pictures, letters, and other clues that were solid enough to prove he was the murderer by common sense standards, but too circumstantial to press charges.

Since that day, the murders have stopped.

It was the first case Riley had been assigned. For two months, he did his best to solve it, but fruitlessly. After his final report, his superior officer just shrugged it off, and the case went into storage with no regrets. Liam Smith didn’t deserve justice.

Now, Riley must spend a whole week here to “ensure” nothing was missed thirty-nine years ago.

Freaking Hazel.

The good news is that he’s already been here for six and a half days, and this “job” was almost done.

Riley sighed and went inside, shivering from the piercing cold.

Inside, Riley put the empty espresso cup on the bar top and looked heavily at Karl, an old man who ran this inn thirty-nine years ago when Riley first got here.

“Mr. Coldwell, I assure you that’s a mere formality, but I must ask you about the night Liam Smith was murdered.” Riley sat on a bar stool and turned on an app on his phone, at which Karl glanced with his eyebrows raised.

“Our conversation is being recorded and sent to my police department in real time,” Riley spread his arms guiltily. “It’s protocol.”

Karl sighed and nodded.

“I understand, Detective Faulkner… My answer has stayed the same for all these thirty-nine years: I remember that night clearly, and I clearly don’t remember seeing the man called Liam Smith. I’m sorry that I couldn’t help then and can’t help now.” Karl turned away, took another glass from the dryer, and started wiping it.

“Of course. Thank you for your time, Mr. Coldwell.” Riley turned the app off, stood, and beamed. “I’m afraid that means I must leave this magnificent place, so I’d like to check out.”

“You could’ve at least pretended you like the place where I was born, raised, and am about to die.” Karl smirked, put the immaculate glass on the shelf, and walked out from behind the bar.

Riley smirked in return and followed Karl to the reception desk.

Karl began to fill out the checkout form when, suddenly, he stopped and raised his gaze to Riley, looking fairly concerned.

“Actually, Detective Faulkner, there is something I wanted to give you…” He opened the bottom drawer and handed Riley an old thick folder.

Now, it was Riley’s turn to raise his eyebrows.

“A tourist brochure? I’m not sure I’ll have the pleasure of coming here again…”

“I know you don’t want it, Detective. But I can no longer guarantee it’s safe here, and I was forbidden to burn it. Take it.” Karl pushed the folder farther toward Riley and put his passport on top of it.

After a moment of hesitation one could easily, yet absolutely mistakenly, confuse with fear, Riley nodded and grabbed both the passport and the folder.

“Of course, Mr. Coldwell. It’s my duty to make sure everyone and everything is safe.”

Karl nodded silently and turned around, walking away as if Riley weren’t there anymore.

Riley stood there, looking at Karl’s back. He was the only living person who had been here when the murder was committed.

Riley shook his head and quickly went outside, a cheerful smirk back on his face. It was over, finally.

At the moment the taxi crossed the border of the village, Riley could swear it became easier to breathe.

The taxi approached a hairpin turn. Riley opened the window and threw the folder Karl gave him away. Unsecured, multiple sheets immediately flew out of it and quickly spread, each choosing its own path to descend onto the ocean waves.

Riley closed the window and leaned his head back, closing his eyes and smiling softly. It should’ve been done long ago, but better late than never.

He could almost feel how the only significant data in the case was carried away by the low tide.

He’s never returning either to this place or to this case.

The murder of Liam Smith will remain unsolved. He does not deserve that kind of justice Detective Faulkner usually gets for the victims of homicides.

But he did deserve the kind of justice Riley Faulkner, a young, promising detective, served him thirty-nine years ago.

Liam Smith invented a truly perfect crime, and Riley quickly realized it was impossible to find evidence solid enough to put him away.

At the same time, Riley believed that such an abomination of a human shouldn’t have been allowed to keep existing. Luckily, the villagers of Hugnaligt Stað thought the same.

That night, the whole village didn’t see them meeting in the inn. Karl didn’t remember Liam drinking his beer after Riley poured something into it, and sure enough, nobody saw them climbing that cliff: Liam drunk out of his skull, while Riley was suspiciously sober.

The serial murderer did everything to stay safe from the law, but he never expected that he’d be just… murdered.

As always, a freezing wind blew uninterruptedly from the sea, howling in the mountains surrounding Hugnaligt Stað as if trying to drown out any mention of what happened here thirty-nine years ago.